Kieran's POV
The main club space was a jarring shift from the intimate darkness of the private room. The bass was too loud, the lights too bright, the hungry stares from other women an annoying buzz against my skin.
I'd pulled my clothes back on, the fabric feeling like a cage after the freedom of touching her. Eleanor walked beside me, her confusion a tangible thing. She thought she'd done something wrong.
She hadn't. It was me.
Her words, breathed in a moment of pure, surrendered pleasure, had been a trigger I never saw coming. "You're so good at this. I want more."
It was exactly what he used to say. My slave master. A patronizing, possessive praise tossed at me like a scrap to a dog after I'd performed some degrading act.
The memory had slammed into me with the force of a physical blow, ice water dousing the fire she had so beautifully stoked. I'd had to stop. I couldn't let the ghost of that monster taint what was happening with her.
